


Now we're there, and we've only just begun

by alterocentrist



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alterocentrist/pseuds/alterocentrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn’t think that there were many things in her life worth remembering. But then she realised who she was standing next to. Laura, with her affable charm, her sharp intellect, and her soulful eyes. This was someone she didn’t want to forget.</p><p>A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2817635">"The kind of people you meet on airplanes".</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Now we're there, and we've only just begun

“Let me just get this clear _one more time_ ,” LaFontaine was saying. “Your seatmate on the plane to Toronto wrote the book that I put in your bag as a drunken joke.”

“A drunken joke that wasn’t even all that funny,” their wife Perry added.

“Let me finish,” LaFontaine said. “And then this woman proceeded to discuss this book with you, among other things, and you willingly participated.”

Perry frowned. “What was she gonna do? Be impolite?”

LaFontaine placed a hand on Perry’s shoulder. “Shh, Per.” They addressed Carmilla: “When she finally revealed her identity, you exchanged contact details with each other and she more or less promised to see you when she got back here.”

Carmilla shrugged. “Yeah, more or less,” she said. She and Laura have messaged back and forth some since that evening they landed in Toronto, but none of it concerned any future plans between the two of them. She didn’t even know when exactly Laura was returning to Stockholm.

“This is like something out of a romcom,” Perry said.

“If so, then am I Cupid?” LaFontaine nudged Perry with their elbow while they smirked at Carmilla.

“Your overconfidence is falling flat, LaFontaine.” Perry eyed Carmilla. “We don’t even know if Carmilla is planning to say yes to this woman, or if the woman is even going to follow through with what she promised Carmilla the last time they saw each other.”

“All right.” Carmilla was shaking her head. “First of all, don’t refer to her as ‘the woman’. It’s a little weird. Her name is _Laura_ –”

“Yes, but it took you almost twelve hours while crossing several time zones to discover that,” LaFontaine interjected.

“That’s why we should use her name as much as possible now,” Carmilla retorted.

“Fine,” LaFontaine said. “Carry on.”

“Second of all, if she comes back to Stockholm and—as you would say—’follows through’ with I don’t know, asking me out, then I would totally, completely, _enthusiastically_ say yes,” Carmilla said. Despite their mortifying official introduction, Carmilla thought that Laura was the most fascinating person she had met in a while, and that perhaps there could be _something_ there.

And surprisingly (to her), she was actually the first person to admit that, for once.

LaFontaine picked up Carmilla’s phone off the table and handed it to her. “Why don’t you make the first move?” they challenged. “Right now. Call her. It carries more gravity than just writing her a message.”

Carmilla took her phone, but only to place it back on the table. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you two are here, _and_ I don’t have her phone number,” Carmilla admitted.

“What?”

“We just exchanged Threema details!”

LaFontaine rolled their eyes. “ _Of course_ , she uses Threema. Why didn’t you get her number, you dumbass?”

“We didn’t think it was necessary?” Carmilla said. “On the account of it being, I don’t know, the age of owning a smartphone?” At this point, she was mentally kicking herself.

“Goddamn, Karnstein.” LaFontaine’s expression was halfway between exasperation and laughter. “Let’s hope for your sake that Laura Hollis is as proactive with dating as she is with her career.”

* * *

When people asked Carmilla what compelled her to enter a competitive, if not slowly declining, industry such as curating for a museum, she joked that it was because she enjoyed being surrounded by beautiful things. What she didn’t say was that there was a part of her that was serious; the beauty that the human race was capable of creating had amazed her since childhood. But the other thing that went unsaid was that most of the time, Carmilla could go a whole day without stepping inside the galleries themselves.

Her office was small, with a window that showcased one of the less enviable views of Stockholm from the Moderna Museet. The senior staff members were able to fit a couch and side tables aside from the usual workplace furniture, but Carmilla managed with a desk, chair and filing cabinet.

She _loved_ her job. But sometimes she didn’t feel any different to any other upper middle class, thirty-one-year-old, university-educated European woman working at a desk every day.

She worked at a steady pace all morning, ticking off items her to-do list before she went off for lunch. She had finished reading a week-old visitation report when her phone alerted her to a new message. It was from Laura: _Hey. Busy at work today?_

 _Let’s just say I’m already two-thirds done with what I need to do for the day_ , Carmilla replied.

Laura’s response was immediate: _Then you wouldn’t mind._

Carmilla’s eyebrow quirked upon reading the message. _Wouldn’t mind what?_ she typed. She was about to send it when her desk phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello, Carmilla Karnstein speaking.”

“Carmilla, hi, this is Annika.” Annika was the manager of the museum’s host team. “Will you be able to come down to reception? There is someone here who would like to talk to you about the _21st Century Posterity_ exhibition.”

“Oh, is there?” Carmilla looked at the last message Laura had sent her again, and felt a smile growing on her face. “That’s exciting. I will be there in five minutes. Thank you, Annika.” She slipped her feet into a pair of black pumps, shrugged on her blazer, and tidied her hair before practically skipping to the elevator.

Annika—almost six feet tall, with light brown hair cut in a slightly overgrown, super chic pixie cut—towered over Laura, but seemed taken by the journalist, who was flashing that bright smile of hers as they spoke. As Carmilla approached, she caught part of their conversation about Stockholm’s many museums. “Hello,” she said tentatively, not wanting to interrupt.

The two women turned at the direction of her voice. “Ah, Carmilla, you’re here!” Annika said.

“Yes, I am,” Carmilla said.

“Ms Hollis was telling me how you invited her to drop by to see our first special exhibition of the year,” Annika said. She turned to Laura conspiratorially. “Carmilla spent many days and nights working to make sure that the museum presents an exhibition that really gets to the heart of the theme. And I personally think that she succeeded.”

“Please, Annika. Call me Laura.” Her smile grew even wider. “I’ve only heard good things about this exhibition, and I personally can’t wait to see it.” She gave Carmilla a pointedly flirtatious look.

“Well, it wasn’t all me,” Carmilla shrugged. Her gaze dropped to the floor, suddenly aware that Laura was making her feel like a nerve-wracked teenager with a crush at her own workplace. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, thanks for calling me down, Annika. I’ll take it from here.”

“Oh, my pleasure. It was nice to meet you, Laura,” Annika said. “I hope you enjoy your tour.” With a small wave, she walked back to her office behind the counter.

Which left Laura and Carmilla standing by themselves.

“Hey,” Laura said, in German.

“Hey.”

She surveyed Carmilla with her eyes. “You look nice.”

Carmilla self-consciously adjusted her wool skirt and the hem of her blazer. “Thanks.” Laura, she noticed, was wearing navy corduroys and a maroon merino sweater with brown boots. On any other person it may have seemed too casual—touristy, even—especially if they were going on a _personal tour_ with a curator, but Carmilla found it charming. “You look nice, too,” she said.

“Well, let’s not waste any time.” Laura stepped closer to her and linked her right arm with Carmilla’s left. “Take me to this amazing exhibition of yours.”

* * *

 _21st Century Posterity_ was not Carmilla’s project, _per se_ , but it was her baby. As a junior curator, she floated around helping senior staff with their work, whether it may be with paintings or prints or installations. This particular exhibition was a project with the Moderna Museet’s curator for photography, and it was the most excitement Carmilla had in her four years working in Stockholm.

“I have to say that this century’s need to document everything borders on the pathological,” Carmilla was telling Laura, as they walked around blown-up photographs of people around the world using cameras, filming on smartphones, and typing furiously on their laptops.

“That’s probably number one on ‘Things You Shouldn’t Say to a Journalist,’” Laura said.

“Are you a compulsive tweeter? Facebook? Instagram?” Carmilla teased.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Karnstein.” Laura said. She stopped in front of a photograph set on the Hong Kong waterfront of people watching fireworks, many through the lenses of their smartphone as they recorded the show. “This is beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Carmilla watched Laura’s face as she regarded the photograph. “I have a Twitter that I use mainly for networking through my job, but I don’t think I’ll ever get an Instagram or anything like that.”

“Perhaps you should get a Snapchat, if you’re not into permanence.”

Carmilla snorted. “But seriously,” she said. “I don’t see the point of all this.”

Laura took her eyes off the photograph to meet Carmilla’s. “Think of it as curating your personal museum. Of all the things that you want to remember about your life, and the things you want to show other people.”

Carmilla considered it. She didn’t think that there were many things in her life worth remembering. But then she realised who she was standing next to. Laura, with her affable charm, her sharp intellect, and her soulful eyes. This was someone she didn’t want to forget.

* * *

That Saturday they sat in a café, protected from the below-zero temperatures and slippery sidewalks. Laura looked up from her second cup of tea—she had one cup of coffee and ordered black tea from then on, telling Carmilla that the beverage made her jittery—and gasped once she caught a glimpse of the view out the window behind her. “Jeez, how long have we been here? It’s dark out already!”’

“You’re forgetting that you’re in Sweden,” Carmilla said. “It’s only quarter to three.”

“Still. It’s strange,” Laura said. “How’s your apple cake?”

“Fantastic.” Carmilla placed another forkful in her mouth. “This is probably my favourite place to get it.”

“Yeah, it’s a good find.” Laura nodded appreciatively. “Hang on.” She picked up a napkin and inched closer to Carmilla, then reached out for her face. “You’ve got a little something there.” Her left hand lightly holding Carmilla’s head steady, she gently wiped Carmilla’s lips. She paused to check the napkin. “And that is… icing sugar and,” she dabbed at a corner of Carmilla’s mouth, “milk froth.”

“Oh.” Carmilla covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I eat like a five-year-old sometimes.”

Laura merely giggled.

* * *

Once the café closed, Carmilla walked Laura to the nearest metro station.

They were standing near the entrance when Laura whirled around. “Oh my god! I forgot to ask you how you were getting home! Do you need to call a taxi or something?” she asked.

Carmilla shook her head. “I’ll walk,” she said. “I live, like, three blocks away.”

“Are you sure?” Laura said.

“Yeah.” It was dark out, and terribly cold, but the snow had stopped falling hours ago and there was no wind. But Laura was still scowling at her. “I should be okay. I’ll send you a message once I get home.”

“All right,” Laura said. She shifted from one foot to another. It must be from the cold. “You take care.”

“You too.” Carmilla said. She leaned over to kiss Laura’s cheek, which was still a little warm from being indoors. When she stepped back, her eyes searched Laura’s face.

But there was no time to read Laura’s expression, for she pulled Carmilla close to kiss her square on the mouth. They were on a street corner for all to see, and Laura’s lips were chapped, but Carmilla didn’t care. Because it was _Laura_ , and Carmilla could taste the bitterness of tea, the tartness of lemon squares, and the sweetness of promise on her lips.

Laura’s gloved hands loosened their grip on Carmilla’s arm and waist, but they remained there, even as she pulled away. “I guess I’ll see you soon?” Her smile was different from any of the other times Carmilla had seen her smile, and it was because—Carmilla realised—of diffidence, which she didn’t even know Laura had the capacity for.

“Yeah.” Carmilla couldn’t resist a smirk. “You’ll _definitely_ be seeing me soon.”

* * *

Their romance was a slow burn.

Work kept them both busy. While Carmilla was in the office from nine until five, five days a week, Laura’s schedule was more varied. Sometimes she would be at home doing research, or she’d be travelling from one side of the archipelago to another to conduct interviews, or she’d be buried in library backrooms or newspaper archives, out of reach for a whole day. But they would go out to dinner some nights, or have coffee or drinks on the weekends, if Laura wasn’t doing legwork in some other city.

Carmilla learned little things about Laura during their time together.

Like how she had an insatiable sweet tooth. In the warmer months, she preferred cycling to riding the metro. And that her first appearance on a major publication was in—to her eventual embarrassment, as someone who declared an affiliation with leftist politics— _The Economist_ , for which she wrote an article about subprime mortgages in post-recession Chicago.

To Carmilla’s amusement, she learned that Laura wouldn’t be in Stockholm if it wasn’t for Stieg Larsson’s _Millennium_ series.

“It’s a thousand-odd pages of horrid acts of violence committed against women!” Carmilla exclaimed. They were having dinner at an American-inspired burger joint after Carmilla had finished work for the day. “What made you read that and decide that maybe you, a woman, would head over here, instead of avoiding this city forever?”

“Larsson was a renegade journalist. So was Blomkvist. And Lisbeth Salander… wow, what a heroine,” Laura said. “It’s not the best story –”

“No, it really isn’t,” Carmilla chuckled.

“But,” Laura continued, “I feel like the rest of the world imagines Sweden as this perfect place with a progressive society, but it’s got its ugly reactionary side, too, which is a story that needs to be told, because it can—and does—get deadly.”

“And that is why you’re here.”

“I guess,” Laura said. “Or maybe I’m a reckless kid who doesn’t know what’s good for her.”

“Or a reckless kid who knows what’s _not_ good for her but does it anyway.”

Laura laughed. “Yes, _that_.”

Carmilla smiled at Laura over the top of her milkshake glass. “I suppose I do have Stieg Larsson to thank then, wherever he may have ended up,” she said, her eyes already gazing into Laura’s before she could think about what she was saying.

Laura cleared her throat and fussed with the corner of the napkin on her table, before looking at Carmilla again. “Okay. What about you?” she asked. “Why Stockholm?”

“They have a lot of museums, a lot of art galleries, and it gets cold and miserable enough for there to be relatively high turnover here compared to places like Paris or Venice,” Carmilla explained. “I studied in Paris, as you know, then got an internship in a gallery in Reykjavik before working on an education team of a gallery in Berlin. But my real goal was to be a curator, and I did a year at a smaller gallery here before getting the job at the Moderna Museet.”

This was an easy story to tell for Carmilla. She had very few easy stories, which were only easier to tell when Laura was the one listening, but at the same time, there were too many stories that she didn’t have the strength to revisit yet. But no matter how abrupt her deflections got, Laura did not flinch, nor did she press further. And because of this, Carmilla found a comfort in her that she hadn’t found in anyone else.

* * *

It was eleven PM and they were on the metro home. Laura’s hand was in Carmilla’s lap, their fingers interlaced, warmth radiating even through their gloves. They had a lovely night at a seafood restaurant that one of Laura’s connections had recommended, topped off with hot chocolates—Laura insisting on whipped cream and marshmallows—at a nearby dessert boutique.

The metro’s automated system announced the impending stop, which was Carmilla’s.

As soon as the train came to a halt, Carmilla prepared herself to stand up, only to be stopped by Laura’s hand still holding hers, and lightly tugging. “Laura?” she asked. “What’s up?”

“Do you wanna –” Laura swallowed. “Do you wanna head over to my place instead?”

Carmilla’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“I mean, unless you’re not comfortable, then you don’t have to come over,” Laura scrambled to get the words out. The carriage doors hissed shut. “Shit. I’ve made you miss your stop and basically forced you into making a decision. Crap. There is _no_ decision, you’re just here now without any choice. Oh god.” She cringed. “I’m so sorry, Carmilla.”

“Laura,” Carmilla said. “Laura, no.”

“Oh god, I’m such an idiot,” Laura said.

“No, Laura.” Carmilla was shaking her head. “Laura, hey, listen, don’t worry about it. I just spaced out for a moment there. I do want to go to your place. You didn’t, you know, push me to make a decision without considering it.”

“Spaced out?”

“I’ve never been to your place before.”

“Neither of us have seen each other’s places,” Laura said. “Oh god, please tell me if I’m going too fast.”

“No, you’re not,” Carmilla said. She squeezed Laura’s hand reassuringly. “ _We’re_ not going too fast.”

* * *

Laura’s apartment was a short walk from the station. When they stepped inside, and Laura flicked the light switch on, Carmilla found herself standing a tidy, climate-controlled apartment, with cosy furniture, and a well-equipped kitchen. “This is nice,” she said, but only because she never knew what the right words were for a situation like this.

“Thanks.” Laura took off her boots, scarf and coat, which she hung on the coat tree right next to the doorway, and reached out to take Carmilla’s. “Make yourself at home,” she said, gesturing to the couch. “Do you want a drink? I’ve got tea, coffee, wine…”

Carmilla sat on the couch that faced a flat screen television and Blu-Ray setup—an impressive feature for an apartment occupied by one person. “I’m good, thanks,” she said. “Although a glass of water would be nice.”

“Water,” Laura said. “Got it. I could use one, too. Be there in a sec.” She moved around the kitchen, and Carmilla listened to the sounds of drawers being opened and closed and the tap being turned on and off. Footsteps, and then a weight next to her on the couch. “Here you go.” Laura handed her a glass.

Carmilla drank the water, suddenly noticing how dry her mouth was. “Thanks,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” Laura picked the remote up on the coffee table in front of them. “You wanna see what’s on TV?”

“Sure.”

“There’s usually some documentary playing on one of the English channels this time of night…” Laura fumbled with the buttons on the remote, unsuccessfully trying to hit the correct one to turn the television on.

Carmilla reached out to grasp Laura’s arm. “Hey, you’re shaking,” she said.

“Am I?” A burst of nervous laughter escaped from Laura’s mouth. “I didn’t notice.” She attempted to turn the television on again. “Hmm.” She squinted. “Oh, that’s silly! I didn’t turn the power board on.” She tried to stand up but Carmilla stopped her.

“Never mind about the TV, Laura.”

Laura frowned. “I thought you wanted to watch?”

“Nah, forget about it.” Carmilla released Laura’s arm, placed the glass of water she was holding with her other hand on the coffee table, and then shifted her position on the couch. “Come here.”

Laura scooted towards Carmilla and curled into her side, resting her cheek on Carmilla’s sweater-clad shoulder. She began to relax as one of Carmilla’s arms was draped around her, and Carmilla’s other hand rested on the curve of her waist. She tilted her head up a bit. “I’m sorry.” Her breath was warm on Carmilla’s neck.

“What for?” Carmilla asked.

“For being an awkward loser.”

“You’re not an awkward loser!”

“I’m a published writer. I’m a _grown ass_ woman,” Laura said. “Yet here I am, falling apart because I invited a beautiful woman back to my apartment and everything I thought I knew about these kinds of things just flew out of my head.”

“I’m beautiful, huh?”

Laura raised her head from Carmilla’s shoulder. “You have no idea.”

“All right,” Carmilla said. Her hand, which was on Laura’s waist, began to travel slowly up and down her sides. She smirked. “So, what exactly did you mean about your knowledge regarding ‘these kinds of things’?”

“Things? Well, uh…” Just like that, Laura was bashful again. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“No,” Carmilla couldn’t resist chuckling. “I actually don’t.”

“Carmilla.”

“I have no clue about these kinds of things,” Carmilla deadpanned. “No clue whatsoever.”

Laura pouted. “You’re an idiot.”

“Okay, sure,” Carmilla said. “Perhaps I need you to enlighten me.”

And that was when Laura kissed her. Tentatively, at first, but her enthusiasm grew when Carmilla reciprocated. Laura moved so that she was half on top of Carmilla, one hand steadying herself against the back of the couch while the other cupped Carmilla’s face.

Carmilla pulled Laura’s body closer to hers. She licked into Laura’s mouth and didn’t even bother to suppress a cocky grunt when she felt Laura shudder in excitement. Their tongues moved together languidly. Carmilla’s hands roamed what she could of Laura’s body above her clothes. Without breaking the kiss, she pushed Laura’s cardigan off of her shoulders, and her hand gradually inched below the hem of Laura’s t-shirt.

At the sensation of Carmilla’s fingertips on her bare skin, Laura bit Carmilla’s bottom lip.

They broke the kiss.

“Are you enlightened now?” Laura breathed.

Carmilla shrugged in response.

Laura’s eyes were shut as she raked her fingers through her hair. Her raised chin exposed the smooth flesh on her neck to Carmilla, who swallowed as she was suddenly aware of a stirring sensation in the bottom of her stomach. Laura’s eyes opened and Carmilla almost gasped at the sight. The gold in her irises were consumed by her dark, wide pupils. “Bedroom?” she asked.

“Definitely,” Carmilla managed to husk out.

Laura practically dragged her to the bedroom. Before Carmilla could think, her sweater and shirt were over her head and on the floor. Then Laura was kissing her again. Carmilla’s hands found the hem of Laura’s t-shirt and she broke the kiss—before it got any deeper—to take it off. Both of them snorted when they saw that they were wearing identical, long-sleeved thermal undershirts.

But soon enough, those were gone, too. Socks were kicked off and breasts were palmed through bras. And then they were on the bed, Carmilla falling on top of Laura.

Laura’s hips moved against Carmilla’s, not urgently, but expectantly. From her mouth came the most delightful pants and whimpers as Carmilla’s mouth travelled to the top of her breasts. She lifted her shoulders off the bed accordingly when Carmilla reached around to unclasp her bra, which was flung across the room. Laura sat up to return the gesture, and then pulled Carmilla back on top of her, their warm, bare, heaving chests making contact as their kisses got sloppier with want.

Carmilla kissed her way down Laura’s body, her mouth savouring the firm breasts and soft stomach, before sitting up and undoing Laura’s jeans. She began to slip them off her legs, only to be greeted by… “Are you _fucking_ serious?” she growled. Of course Laura was wearing _snowflake-patterned leggings_ under her jeans.

Laura kicked in protest. “Just get on with it, Carmilla,” she said. She hooked her thumbs around the waistband of her thermal leggings and inched them down her legs. “A little help, please?”

Carmilla gladly finished the job for her, leaving Laura naked, except for her plain navy underwear. But she couldn’t resume what she had been doing, because Laura used the newfound leverage from their positions to flip them over, and she settled confidently on top, with her legs between Carmilla’s.

Laura dove forward to kiss Carmilla, moaning into her mouth as their hips bucked against each other. Her hand reached down to work at the button-fly of Carmilla’s jeans. She knelt up between Carmilla’s legs and tugged at the garment. Her eyebrows furrowed when she realised how tight they were.

“Keeps me warm,” Carmilla muttered.

Once Laura had pulled the jeans past her knees, it took one quick motion to get rid of it completely. She unceremoniously shoved it over the edge of the bed. And then her full attention was focused on Carmilla.

A hot mouth enclosed around Carmilla’s nipple, while a hand kneaded her other breast. The ache between Carmilla’s legs spiked when Laura thrust her hips, the pleasure and pain of excitement making Carmilla unable to suppress a low moan.

Laura raised her lips from Carmilla’s chest and looked at her curiously.

Carmilla buried a hand in Laura’s hair and pushed it back towards her breast, and sighed happily when the woman obliged.

After paying Carmilla’s breasts sufficient tribute, Laura made the rest of the journey down her ribcage, her hair tickling Carmilla’s bare skin underneath where she moved. She licked her way down Carmilla’s stomach and hips, and Carmilla’s breath caught as Laura got lower, lower, her lips teasing at the skin near the waistband of her underwear.

Laura, back in her kneeling position earlier, divested Carmilla of this last piece of clothing. Carmilla had no time to feel self-conscious about being naked in front of Laura, with the moonlight—filtered through blinds—illuminating their night, when Laura was looking at her lying on the bed, her legs spread, and _she smirked_.

And then she tossed her hair back over her shoulders and tucked stray strands away from her face and behind her ears.

And then she crouched down and kissed a trail on the inside of Carmilla’s thighs.

And then Carmilla heard Laura hum appreciatively at the waft of her arousal.

And then Laura’s tongue slid up from where it briefly teased her entrance, to her clit.

Carmilla gasped at the contact with her sensitive spot. Laura went slowly at first, lapping at her clit softly. It took a few affirming noises from Carmilla for her to really go for it. She entered Carmilla with her tongue, and a growing buzz radiated throughout Carmilla’s body. The tongue returned to her clit—working faster and harder this time—and was replaced by a single finger curling inside of her.

It did not take long for Carmilla to reach climax after that. She whimpered as she came, her hands lightly tangled in Laura’s hair.

Laura carelessly wiped at her mouth with the palm of her hand, and took her underwear off, before moving up to meet Carmilla’s lips with hers. She adjusted their positions so that she was now straddling Carmilla, one fully naked woman with another, and the first thing that Carmilla noticed was an unfamiliar wetness on the flesh just below her belly button.

Her jaw went slack when she figured it out: Laura was _dripping_.

Carmilla’s hand moved between Laura’s legs and easily found Laura’s clit.

A noise of pleasure emanated from Laura, and echoed down Carmilla’s throat.

Carmilla gradually quickened the pace of her finger circling and tweaking Laura’s clit. She enjoyed the feeling of Laura on top of her, her hot skin sliding against Carmilla’s as she writhed. Laura had broken their kiss and was panting against Carmilla’s neck. After a few moments, she was tense and silent for a second, then she cried out as the waves of orgasm wracked her body.

Laura rolled off of Carmilla, but stayed close enough that they were still touching, while both on their backs staring at the ceiling. When she had caught her breath, she began to laugh.

“What?” Carmilla asked.

“If you weren’t enlightened by that…”

Carmilla was laughing, too. “Trust me,” she said. “I think I am.”

* * *

Perry placed a bowl of piping hot potato soup in front of Carmilla, before taking a seat herself. It was a Friday evening and she and LaFontaine had invited Carmilla over to their apartment for dinner, which they did at least once a month, and almost always ended in too many drinks and Carmilla crashing on their couch for the night.

LaFontaine tore off a chunk of bread and dunked it in their soup. “What’s happening with you lately, Carmilla?” They asked. “I mean, I know I asked about work earlier, but you and the _Retrograde Motion_ woman… how’s that going?”

“Her name is Laura,” Carmilla patiently corrected. “And it’s going well. We’ve been seeing each other for almost a month now.” Perry and LaFontaine both urged her to go on. “She’s a lovely person. Intelligent, a bit of a dork,” Carmilla chuckled. “She makes me laugh. A lot.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Perry said. “You’ve been smiling a lot tonight. It’s unusual, but it’s nice to see.”

LaFontaine nodded. “I agree,” they said. “You don’t smile often enough.”

“I do!” Carmilla paused. “Wait, don’t I?”

“Nah, your demeanour does come off as a bit intense,” Perry said.

“You’re surly –” LaFontaine started, but was silenced with Perry kicking her under the table.

“I mean, it’s not off-putting,” Perry said, “but it can be a bit intimidating.”

“What we’re trying to say is that Laura is softening you up,” LaFontaine teased.

“LaFontaine, don’t say that like it’s a bad thing,” Perry admonished. She turned to Carmilla. “It’s not a bad thing, honestly.” She shot LaFontaine a look.

They cleared their throat. “Yes, it’s a _great_ thing,” they said.

“I’m actually curious to meet Laura,” Perry said. “When do you think you’ll be comfortable introducing her to us?”

Carmilla, surprisingly, began considering it. She had lived in Stockholm for just under four years, and she had known LaFontaine and Perry for three, and had a handful of relationships. But Carmilla often liked to keep her spheres separate, and none of the other women she had dated have met her friends. For some reason, however, the idea of Laura meeting them was something she felt _should_ happen.

“I’m not sure. She’s quite busy working on that book she’s writing,” she told them. “But I’ll try to see if she’ll be available sometime after Valentine’s Day. We could have a double dinner date?” she suggested.

“That sounds perfect,” Perry said. “We’re very excited to meet her, so let us know.”

LaFontaine looked at Perry, then Carmilla, then Perry again. “Seriously? You’re not treating this like it’s a big deal?” they asked. “Carmilla,” they nodded at her, “just offered for us to have dinner with her new lady. Before, she was the queen of deflection, always coming up with silly excuses just so we won’t meet whoever she’s dating. But now, we’ve asked for the first time, and she already has an idea for a plan?”

“Well, don’t make me want to withdraw my offer, LaF,” Carmilla joked.

LaFontaine grinned at her. “Honestly, I’m just happy that you’ve found someone whose company you enjoy enough to want to share with us.” They glanced at Perry. “We both are. Laura sounds like she’s quite special to you.”

Now that Carmilla thought about it... Yes, Laura was really special.

* * *

That was not to say that she didn’t have her moments.

A casual comment made by Carmilla over drinks evolved into a low-key argument, which rapidly descended from valid points to passive-aggressive jibes. Begrudgingly, they sat next to each other on the metro back, but there was a thick wall of frustration between them.

At this point, Carmilla couldn’t recall _exactly_ what started this fight, but she couldn’t defuse it even if she wanted to, because the longer it went on, the more Laura had become impenetrable.

The more she thought about it, the more she realised that Laura had been in an uncharacteristically sour mood all evening. Sure, she tried to enjoy herself, but moments were punctuated with tired sighs and incessant glancing at her phone or her watch. Carmilla knew she should’ve picked up on it earlier and asked about it, but she wasn’t confident with that aspect of dealing with people. Both of them set the fire, and the damage was done now.

The train reached her stop. She turned to Laura, who was still fuming, not having spoken a word since they left the bar. “I’m off,” she said. Laura didn’t budge. “I’m sorry about this evening. Please call me.” Still no response. She kissed Laura on the cheek. “Don’t go to bed mad, love.”

“Okay,” was all that Laura said.

Carmilla gave her a small, sad smile. She slung her bag over her shoulder and exited the carriage.

She did not hear from Laura for two days.

* * *

The silence was broken not by either of them, but by chance, when she saw Laura at the supermarket’s hot beverage aisle, picking out tea while in cheerful conversation with a tall, ruggedly handsome man wearing a hunter green down jacket. Carmilla walked over to them, determined to make her presence known. “Laura.”

Laura looked away from her companion, and her expression stiffened. “Carmilla, hey,” she said. “I didn’t know I’d be running into you today.” She was speaking in English, which Carmilla thought was for the man’s benefit.

“Neither did I.” The words were loaded with barbed questions (“Why didn’t you call me? Who is this guy?”), but Carmilla did not say them out loud. Instead, she looked at the man questioningly.

“Oh!” Laura remembered herself. “Carmilla, this is Kirsch, he’s a friend of mine from way back.”

“We were in the same English lit class in our first semester at university,” Kirsch explained.

“And Kirsch, this is Carmilla,” Laura said. “My –” she swallowed. “Uhm…”

“I’m her girlfriend,” Carmilla said. She mustered the best smile she could without snarling. “It’s nice to meet you, Kirsch.” She held her hand out.

A grin broke out on Kirsch’s face as he shook Carmilla’s hand. “Well, hello, it’s amazing to meet you too!” he exclaimed. He must’ve registered Carmilla’s confused reaction, because he carried on speaking, “Laura didn’t tell me she had a _girlfriend_.” He looked at Laura. “Come on, Hollis, what’s fourteen years of friendship for but for sharing?”

“That’s interesting,” Carmilla said.

Laura simply stared at the floor.

Kirsch clapped his hands. “I’m taking you both out tonight!” he said. “Now, it’s my first time Sweden, and I’m only here for a week, so I’ve really wanted to try a good smörgåsbord. Help me out?”

* * *

Because Carmilla was not petty, and because she wanted to impress this apparent old friend of Laura’s, she took them to her favourite smörgåsbord restaurant. She quickly explained to him how the buffet worked, and they briefly argued over payment—which Carmilla won, claiming “hospitality”.

Laura’s contribution to their conversation was minimal until they were seated with their first plates of food and glasses of beer. “Hey, Kirsch,” she said. She prodded the fish on her plate. “Remember when you and your frat brothers used to throw salted herring at people?”

“Naw, Laura, you don’t have to reminisce about my embarassing past in front of Carmilla here,” Kirsch said. “She seems like a classy lady.”

“Oh, save your modesty and dignity for someone else, Kirsch. I got up to mischief at university. I was a philosophy major in _Paris_!” Carmilla boasted. “I had my fair share of shenanigans.”

“But did it involve fistfights over Derrida?”

“Psh. I spent nights at lesbian bars confident that quoting de Beauvoir was a solid strategy to getting me laid,” Carmilla said.

“Did it work?” Kirsch asked.

Carmilla shrugged. “Once or twice.”

The three of them had a laugh at that.

While eating their way through the rest of the courses, Carmilla listened to Laura and Kirsch’s stories about their days at university. It turned out that Laura had initially disliked Kirsch, who admitted to being a stereotypical frat bro back then, but ended up becoming his reluctant friend at the end of their first semester. They became closer from that point on, and he happened to be one of the few people in university that Laura still kept in touch with.

Laura had loosened up by the time they were eating through their second helpings from the selection of hot dishes. The way she and Carmilla were interacting, it was like they never had an argument. Though, Carmilla thought, that may have been due the glasses of beer that Laura had been drinking. However, Laura was getting openly affectionate with her in front of Kirsch, and Carmilla was not one for public displays, but she had missed Laura, so she let it happen.

Kirsch—”His first name is Brody, actually!”, Laura had announced—was in Stockholm in his capacity as a professional photographer. He was a sports photographer, but he also did some editorial work for magazines. He had worked with Laura before on several of her stories. In this case, Laura had asked him to take the photographs she wanted to include in her new book.

“It was a logistical nightmare getting here,” Kirsch said. “I almost missed my connection in Reykjavik because of a weather-related diversion, but my luggage, which has most of my equipment, _missed_ it for real. I had to keep checking in with the airline to make sure that they get my stuff to Stockholm, and get it delivered to my hotel room in one piece, and Laura had to reschedule all the appointments she made with the people I needed to take shots of… oh man!” He looked at Laura. “I’m glad we pulled it off in the end.”

“Me too, bud,” Laura said. “Great job.”

Kirsch smiled. “Only for my favourite client.”

This must have been the reason why Laura had been so irritable the other day. But Carmilla didn’t bring it up; she sat back and let the conversation go on as it had before. She had missed Laura’s smile, and despite her initial prickliness, she had come to like Kirsch.

Ultimately, the awkward chance encounter had turned into a fun evening.

* * *

They sobered up at a McDonald’s not far from Kirsch’s hotel. After Kirsch said goodbye for the night, Carmilla and Laura walked to the nearest metro station together. “You didn’t tell me.” Carmilla switched back to German. It was the language they spoke most when they were alone together, and so it felt the most intimate.

“Tell you what?”

“About that whole mess with Kirsch and his photography equipment, and how it affected what you were supposed to be doing for work,” Carmilla said. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Carmilla.”

“I know I’m not the type to ask. Sometimes I don’t even notice,” Carmilla said. “And yeah, I did say stupid things that night. But when I get the hint, I get it, and I dunno, maybe I could’ve helped you somehow. Maybe we didn’t have to fight. I just thought we would be comfortable with telling each other how we’re feeling.”

“I want us to be,” Laura said. She exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, Carm. I’m not so good at having people to depend on. I have a habit of taking everything on myself. It’s just what I’m used to.” She stopped walking and took Carmilla’s hand in hers, which prompted them to make eye contact. “I’m sorry for what I said that night, and what I didn’t say, and I want to work on getting used to having someone who can take care of me.”

Carmilla let go of Laura’s hand and put an arm around her instead. “I’m sorry for what I said, too,” she said. She pressed a kiss to Laura’s temple. “Being angry at each other kinda blows.”

“You think?” Laura rested her arm on Carmilla’s waist, and then leaned into her as they resumed walking. “By the way, you called yourself my girlfriend. At the supermarket, when you met Kirsch.”

“In my defence, I was a bit jealous when I saw you two. I mean, you guys seemed close, and he’s good-looking, and I never cared to ask you if you were into men –”

“I’m not,” Laura said. “And even if I was, ew,” she made a face, “ _Kirsch_.”

“Well, I didn’t know that at the time, did I?” Carmilla waved her off as they descended into the metro station. “Anyway, I thought he might have been an ex-boyfriend or someone.” She paused. “Wait. Did you mind that?”

“Mind what?”

“Me introducing myself as your,” she swallowed, “girlfriend.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Laura said. “As long as I get to introduce myself as your girlfriend, too.”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the point?”

Laura laughed, before pulling Carmilla in for a kiss. “I don’t want to go to bed mad again,” she said afterwards.

Before she could contemplate what Laura meant—although part of her was already _pretty_ certain—Carmilla scanned the electronic board for the next service on their line. There was one arriving in two minutes. She led Laura by the hand to the ticket barriers, where they swiped their travel cards, and walked over to wait at the correct platform.

“So,” Carmilla said, “your place or mine?”

* * *

“This is ridiculous,” Carmilla spat out through the cold air. “This is the most touristy thing I’ve ever done.”

“I forget that Europeans have an aversion to looking like tourists.”

“Only tourists would do this for the sake of romance, Laura,” Carmilla muttered. They were standing on Monteliusvägen, a light snowfall blanketing the view of the frozen lake. It was, according to the weather app on Laura’s phone, twenty minutes until sunset.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Carm. Live a little,” Laura said. “Want to go get ice cream?”

Carmilla glared at her. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Laura paused to wait for a further reaction, but burst into premature giggles. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. You’re adorable when you pout. Actually, no, you’re adorable just standing there.”

“Really.” Carmilla huffed and shoved her hands deeper in the pockets of her coat. Since Valentine’s Day had fallen on a Saturday, Laura had planned a whole day for them, starting with lunch at an American-style grill restaurant, and then this walk along Monteliusvägen to watch the sunset. She dressed well enough, but it was hard to feel adorable, not to mention Valentine’s-ready, when she was wearing a hat, gloves, scarf and parka on top of it.

“Believe it,” Laura said. She looked out onto the frozen lake, and gasped as she pointed at the streaks of pink-orange in the winter sky. “Oh, here we go!”

Carmilla didn’t focus; she had been to Monteliusvägen countless times, and she thought that the sunset’s magic was better felt in the warmer months. And at that moment, her attention, she believed, was rightfully on the woman beside her.

The falling snowflakes, the blue-grey streets, the vapours of words spoken suspended in the air. Carmilla associated these with the drab winter days, but in this moment, she saw them in a different light.

Stockholm was beautiful on Laura.

* * *

They stopped by a takeout place on the way back to Carmilla’s apartment after the sunset. They talked, ate dinner and shared a bottle of wine, eventually ending up on the floor with their backs against Carmilla’s couch.

Laura had Carmilla’s hands in hers, resting in her lap, and they were kissing softly. When Carmilla made a small noise, she stopped and moved her head back.

“No,” Carmilla protested.

“Wait,” Laura said. She got up to get something from her bag. “I got you a present.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” Carmilla said. She went to retrieve it from her room. The two of them sat on the couch. She spied the wrapped item in Laura’s hands. “Do you wanna go first? Or should I?”

“Whatever works,” Laura said.

“All right, should we just do an exchange then?”

“Yeah,” Laura laughed. “Carm, chill. I don’t think there’s any one way to do these things.”

“Okay.” Carmilla handed her the cerulean shopping bag, then took the flat, square item from Laura. She simply held it while she waited for Laura to look inside the bag.

“Carmilla!” Laura pulled a thick wool sweater from the bag. She unfolded it and traced the hardy knit with her fingers. “This is perfect.” She looked up. “Thank you.” She nodded at the unopened present in Carmilla’s hands. “Come on!”

Carmilla carefully tore the wrapping paper. Underneath was a faded piece of black card, with yellowing white letters printed boldly across. She raised her eyes to meet Laura’s. “I’ve been looking for this,” she said. It was a vinyl record of The Zombies’ 1968 single “Butcher’s Tale (Western Front 1914)”, which was only released in the States and Canada.

“You mentioned it,” Laura said. “When we were messaging each other while I was in Toronto.”

“I’ve just never found it anywhere,” Carmilla said. “How did you manage to find one?” It wasn’t rare, as far as records went, but they were hard to find in Europe, and North America was a _huge_ place.

Laura shrugged. “I know people,” she said. “Of course, I remember you telling me that you wanted this record particularly for the B-side.”

“I think it’s one of the most underrated B-sides. _Ever_.”

“Wasn’t it on _Mad Men_ ’s last season?” Laura asked.

Carmilla cocked her head. “What? How would you know that?”

“I may have looked it up when you mentioned it,” Laura replied.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Babe, I’m not the one geeking out over a record that’s over forty-five years old.” Laura laughed. “You’ve got a turntable, right? Play it for me.”

“Seriously?”

Laura nodded. “Go on.”

Carmilla jumped up and walked over to the corner of her room where her turntable was. She took the record out of its covering and set it up on the platter. The sounds of the record filled her living room, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she returned to the couch to sit beside Laura. She had, in the meantime, discarded the sweater she was wearing and pulled on the new one that Carmilla bought her.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Laura.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Carm.”

The song was old, and she couldn’t remember when she fell in love with it. But tonight, it may as well be her first listen.

_This will be our year, took a long time to come_

Because this time, the truth in the song echoed all around them.

* * *

Carmilla returned to her office after a lengthy meeting with the exhibition team. She took a long drink of water from the bottle on her desk and collapsed in her chair, her mind awash with the ideas and goals brought up during the discussion. She breathed deeply and picked up her phone for the first time since she got into work that morning. She smiled upon seeing three unread messages from Laura.

The first one: _Am I on a train or am I in an oven? Don’t be surprised if you hear about a bunch of passengers being roasted on the InterCity on the news tonight. And in case that happens, I apologise in advance for missing our date._

The second one: _Thermostat crisis alleviated. I think I may just be lightly browned, but still pretty pink on the inside!_

The third one: _Stockholm, I’m back in ya! Can’t wait to see you tonight._

Laura had been in Skövde for the last week, researching and facilitating focus group conversations with several communities. Carmilla promised to take her to dinner once she got back. She made reservations at a family-owned traditional Swedish restaurant she liked, knowing that its low-key atmosphere and wide range of akvavit would be an ideal place for her and Laura to catch up and unwind.

 _I’m glad you’re back_ , Carmilla typed. _I missed you._ She hesitated. She and Laura had been dating for two months. She debated not on whether it okay for her to say it, but on whether she was prepared to say it. “Better safe than sorry,” she muttered, as she hit BACKSPACE. She typed _See you tonight_ , after the first sentence and sent the message.

 _How glad? ;)_ Laura’s reply almost made her blush.

She was thinking of an appropriate—or would it be better if it was _inappropriate_?—response when the phone on her desk rang. She held it to her ear. “Hello, this is Carmilla Karnstein,” she said.

“Carmilla!” a deceptively jovial voice exclaimed. “ _Mäuschen_.”

Carmilla froze. “I beg your pardon,” she said. “May I know who this is?”

The voice on the other end of the line tutted. “Darling, has it really been that long?” she asked, in drawling, posh German. “Please don’t tell me that you no longer recognise your _own mother’s_ voice. Not when I’ve missed you so much.”

* * *

She knocked on Laura’s door. Once. Twice. Three times.

Laura answered, wearing an apron and a surprised expression. CHVRCHES was playing on her speakers. “Carmilla,” she said. “I thought you weren’t feeling well.”

“I wasn’t.” Carmilla let herself in and shed her outerwear. “But I’m feeling better now, and I wanted to see you. Since I already cancelled our reservation, I thought I’d come here instead. I can get takeout delivered, and I’m sure you have some beer, at least.” She tugged her hat off. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you okay?” Laura asked.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“You’re talking _really_ fast,” Laura said. “And in Swedish.”

“Oh, am I?” Carmilla persisted in talking in Swedish anyway. She didn’t feel comfortable speaking in German because it reminded her of her mother, and after what happened earlier, the memories were simply too raw. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“All right then,” Laura responded in Swedish this time. “Are you drunk?”

“I’d like to be,” Carmilla said.

Laura looked at her warily. “I’ll get you a beer.” She went to her fridge and produced a bottle, which she uncapped. But before she gave it to Carmilla, she frowned and asked, “What’s up, Carm? Bad day at work?”

“You could say that,” Carmilla said. She tried to snatch the beer out of Laura’s hand. “Hey, c’mon.”

“Let’s have dinner first,” Laura said. She gestured at a pan on her stove. “I made fried rice.”

“Okay,” Carmilla said. “Can I have that beer though?”

“Fine.” Laura handed her the beer. “Sit down, I’ll get the food.”

Carmilla sat on the couch and watched as Laura removed her apron, then scooped portions of fried rice into two bowls. A minute later, they were seated next to each other, digging into their meals. “This is good,” she said. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Why thank you!” Laura deadpanned. “I think this fried rice showcases the height of my culinary talents.”

Carmilla laughed despite herself. She ate the rest of her food in silence. Laura was telling her stories about her trip, and she made an effort to listen. Yet her thoughts kept drifting to her mother, and what her mother said to her. At some point, Laura must have noticed that her mind was elsewhere, because there was a hand on her arm.

“Carmilla,” she said. “Earth to Carmilla.” She had given up on Swedish, opting to talk in German. “Seriously, is something wrong? You’re out of it, babe.”

“Shh.” German was rough and suffocating on Carmilla’s ears. She collected herself, then decided to speak in English, knowing that Laura would settle into it faster than Swedish: “Can I have another beer? I’m running dry.”

“ _English_ , now?” Laura asked, but she switched accordingly anyway. “I don’t want to give you any more. I think you’re already drunk.”

“After _one_ beer?” Carmilla shrugged. “Okay, maybe one shot of vodka before I came here. Or was it two? It was _freezing_ outside!” This only made Laura’s concern turn into suspicion. “Okay, love, sniff me,” she beckoned Laura. “I’ll prove to you that I’m not as drunk as you think I am, or even as drunk as I want to be.”

Laura leaned towards her, but before she could catch a whiff, Carmilla grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hungrily. And Laura reciprocated, gradually, then suddenly, with the same energy, until Carmilla’s tongue sought entrance to her mouth.

“Wait.” Laura pushed her away. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I haven’t seen you for a while. I’ve been going a little crazy, if you know what I mean.”

“Carm –”

Carmilla placed a finger on Laura’s lips. “Come on,” she urged. “I’ve been wanting,” she inched her face closer to Laura’s, “to do this”, her finger traced a line from Laura’s lips, to her jawline, and down her neck, “all week.” She relished in Laura’s involuntary shudder, before kissing her again.

“Fucking hell, Carmilla,” Laura breathed, Carmilla’s hands moved to unbutton her pants, while her mouth worked at her neck. “You missed me that much?”

Carmilla did not reply. Instead, she removed Laura’s pants, then knelt on the floor. She kissed her way up Laura’s thigh, then she pulled Laura’s underwear down. The rich, heady smell filled her nostrils. Not wanting to waste any time, Carmilla lunged in to taste.

The sensation of tongue on clit elicited a strangled moan from Laura. She shoved a hand under her top and began massaging her breast and stroking her nipples. “Oh _fuck_ , Carm,” she panted. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Smug, Carmilla hummed against her.

Laura threw her head back as the vibration radiated through her body. She shivered and sighed as the tip of Carmilla’s tongue honed in on her clit, applying greater pressure with each stroke. It wasn’t long until she came, quiet yet intense.

Carmilla diligently lapped up Laura’s juices before coming up to sit on the couch. She held a dazed Laura as she recovered from the high. If Carmilla knew anything, it was that there was no better distraction than a handful of great orgasms. So once she was sure that Laura had come back to her, she planned to go in for a second round.

* * *

The smell of coffee woke Carmilla the following morning. She was naked under a duvet that smelt like Laura, and a weak strip of dawn light escaped through the curtains. The space next to her was empty but warm. She sat up and noticed a neatly folded set of clothes on top the chest at the foot of Laura’s bed.

She slipped into her underwear and put on the maroon sweatshirt and black leggings that Laura picked out for her before stepping outside the bedroom. She spied a fresh pot of coffee on the dining table, along with toast, butter and a selection of spreads.

“I was gonna do a fry-up but every bit of meat I had went into the fried rice.” Laura walked out from behind the kitchen counter. She was wearing grey sweatpants and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. “You slept well.”

Carmilla rubbed her eyes as she took a seat at the table. “A hot girl wore me out,” she said. She poured coffee in a mug set out on the table and stirred in a couple of tablespoons of creamer. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” Laura sat across from her and fixed herself a mug of coffee as well. She began buttering, and then spreading jam on a piece of toast. “You wanna talk to me about what happened last night?”

“If you wanted a play-by-play recap, you should’ve set up your came–”

“Carmilla, please,” Laura said. “You came here last night, you were distraught, you tried speaking every other language you know _but_ German, and you’re still deflecting my questions. Something is bothering you and you’re letting it fester inside of you.” Her gaze softened. “Look, it’s totally okay if you’re not ready to talk about it. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend that you’re all right when you’re clearly not.”

Carmilla slouched instinctively in her seat.

Laura sipped her coffee calmly. “You know you can tell me anything, right? And like, I’m sorry if I pressured you last night with my constant questions. Feel free to tell me to back off, just… don’t leave me hanging, okay?”

“Okay.” Carmilla stared hard at the piece of toast she was buttering, then looked up. Laura’s eyes were golden and shining and warm. “My mother called me yesterday at work,” she finally said. “I don’t even know how she got my work number.” She snorted, because she already knew the answer. Her mother was a powerful woman, one of Austria’s industry giants, so getting in touch with small fish at the Moderna Museet was a probably a piece of cake for her.

“What did she say?” Laura knew about Carmilla’s relationship with her family, and was considerate enough not to pry further, but her concern had overtaken her.

“She wants me to come to Austria because she’s throwing this giant ball to celebrate thirty-five years since she started the company. Of course, she wants _the whole family_ there.”

“Right,” Laura said. “So are you going?”

“Nah, I told her to stuff it,” Carmilla said. “I’m not putting up with being paraded around hundreds of strangers. I’m not an accessory she can put on whenever she feels like it.” She paused. “I haven’t seen her, or my brother, in three years. She wasn’t very happy that I refused to learn the ropes so I can lead the company one day. She’s not happy that she has to tell people that I work at an _art museum_. I mean, I guess, I should be accustomed to it. She wasn’t happy about a lot of things I did, or I was, when I was younger.”

“I know there’s nothing like the bond of blood. But for me, that blood is poison. And it’s tried to destroy me more times than I can count.” She could remember the beginning of her career, the times she fantasised about giving up. She would return to her mother as the biblical prodigal son had, and her mother would welcome her with open arms, as the son’s father did. “I’ve learnt to be okay, though, with the way my life is,” she continued. “Do I wish for a good relationship with my mother? Sure. But I know that if I wanted her to care about me the way I wanted her to, it’s _me_ that has to change. And that’s something I could bear less.”

Laura munched on her toast thoughtfully. “Can I tell you something?” she asked.

Carmilla nodded.

“My mum is from Linz. She met my dad when she was studying in Vienna and he was this young Canadian backpacker with a beard and a belly laugh,” Laura began.

“I didn’t know your mother was Austrian.”

“Why do you think my German is so good? We spoke it at home when I was little.” Laura chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Anyway, they fell in love, got married, moved to Canada, and had me. I had a pretty great childhood. We lived in a smaller town, closer to Hamilton than Toronto, and we had everything we needed.” She smiled wistfully. “But when I was around eight or nine, I noticed that my parents started to fight a lot more. My mum wasn’t happy where we were, she wasn’t happy with what she was doing, and I remember that she told my dad that he was teaching me to settle for less. She lived for the bustle, you know? And Dad and I, at the time, we preferred the quiet life. So she left, just before I started Grade 7.”

“ _God_ , where did she go?”

“Toronto at first, apparently,” Laura said. “My dad and I moved to the suburbs in Toronto before high school in hopes of getting her back, but then we found out that she had gone back to Austria.” She looked down at her plate. “She sent me letters, every couple of years she’d visit for Christmas… And being a sexually confused dorky nerd raised by a single dad in a suburban high school is _exactly_ as fun as it sounds. There were times when I’d have a really horrible day, and all I can think about was, ‘I know why Mum left us, because anything is better than this.’”

She breathed deeply, before continuing: “I had a bit of time off when I was studying in London, so I went to Austria to look for her. She remarried, but didn’t have any more kids. She and her husband travel a lot. The life she always wanted, I suppose. She called me on my graduation day and sent me flowers when I got my first article published. I get the occasional email. Otherwise it’s silence about my life, or even any of my books.” A wistful smile appeared on her face. “Anyway, the point I wanted to make is I grew up and learned that the people who love you for who you are are the only people you should surround yourself with. Maybe sometimes that’s not your blood family. But you know,” she shrugged, “you _will_ find your own, eventually. Hell, maybe you’ve already started.”

Laura was warm and safe and genuine, with an empathy that belies her intense, restless personality. And throughout the years, Carmilla knew nice people, trustworthy people, but never before had she met someone she felt so comfortable opening up to.

The words were out of her mouth before she knew it: “I missed you.”

Laura smiled, so big and bright. “I missed you too.”

* * *

Carmilla first met Perry on her second day at the Moderna Museet. Perry, originally from Paris, was on the conservation team, known throughout the staff for her meticulous work on the museum’s assets. She took Carmilla—they both studied at the Sorbonne, it turned out—under her wing immediately and introduced her to the workplace dynamics, to the city, and to her goofy, biology professor spouse LaFontaine.

Upon realising that she should give her dearest friends much more credit, she decided that it was finally time to introduce Laura to them.

A sentiment that she almost regretted, given the easy connection between Laura and LaFontaine, who were eagerly drinking wine while exchanging jokes and barbs in French, many of which were good-naturedly directed at Carmilla.

Until Perry shushed them and asked LaFontaine to help her get dinner on the table.

They were halfway through their second helpings of risotto when LaFontaine refilled everyone’s wine glasses. “I’d like to propose a toast,” they said, “to Laura, for being the first of Carmilla’s women that we’ve ever met –”

“Not that she’s had many,” Perry added, for Laura’s benefit.

“And for being exactly the adorable, outspoken and hilarious person that we’ve always wanted Carmilla to date,” LaFontaine finished. “To Laura!” They raised their glass and waited for everyone to clink and repeat the toast, before going on, “And I’d also like to propose a toast to myself.”

Carmilla lowered her glass abruptly. “Wait, what?”

“ _LaFontaine_ ,” Perry said at the same time.

“If I hadn’t put that book in your bag, then you and Laura wouldn’t have had those amazing conversations,” LaFontaine said. They shook their head, presumably to imaginary applause. “I know, I know. You may call me Cupid.”

“As much as I am grateful to your inebriated self, LaFontaine, I like to think that Carmilla and I still would’ve hit it off regardless of whether she had one of my books on her or not,” Laura said. She shot a smile Carmilla’s way. “But yes, you kinda are Cupid.”

“Yeah, thanks LaF,” Carmilla said.

The remainder of the evening involved Perry and LaFontaine telling Laura all the funny and embarrassing stories they knew about Carmilla. Despite blushing too much for her liking, Carmilla did not feel uncomfortable once. There was love in the room. It was so palpable, so present.

Perry and LaFontaine, it turned out, had been the family she needed all this time.

And _perhaps_ —she didn’t want to jump to conclusions—Laura was the woman she had been waiting for.

* * *

“ _Hi, you’ve reached Laura Hollis. I apologise for being currently unavailable, but please leave a message and I will attempt to get back to you soon._ ”

Carmilla sighed. “Hey Laura, it’s Carmilla,” she said. “Sometimes I wish you had a landline, so I could remind you to charge your phone. Anyway, I hope the writing is going well. See you soon, hopefully. I miss you.”

Laura had told Carmilla that she was going to be as “off the grid” as possible from Wednesday until Sunday to catch up on work. She detailed what being “off the grid” meant: the wifi on her electronic devices was turned off, and she would check her phone every hour and her emails once a day. It hadn’t been _that_ bad for Carmilla during the weekdays, when she had been swamped with work herself, but when Saturday came, she was itching to see Laura.

A part of her wanted to warn herself against becoming too attached, but she kicked those thoughts out of her mind. She was thirty-one. It was about time that she got accustomed to having someone steady.

If Laura had neglected to charge her phone, then there was a good chance she would’ve forgotten to eat, too. Carmilla smiled when the idea came to her. She would stop by Laura’s favourite takeout place and head over to Laura’s apartment to have dinner and keep her company while she worked. She threw a change of clothes and her laptop in her bag before shrugging on her coat, lacing up her boots, and walking to the metro.

She was on the elevator to Laura’s floor forty minutes later, holding a bag with still-hot containers of food. She stepped into the hallway and couldn’t resist an excited giggle as she knocked on Laura’s apartment door.

She could hear _voices_ —plural—before the locks clicked and the door creaked open.

“Carmilla?” Laura stopped opening the door all the way so that only her face and the upper half of her body were in sight. “Babe, what are you doing here?” Her German was halting, the enunciation not quite accurate, like she hadn’t spoken it for days.

“I brought dinner.” Carmilla lifted the bag of food. “Your favourite.”

“Oh, I already ate,” Laura said. “You know, some pizza. But I could eat again.”

“Awesome.” Carmilla shrugged. She tried to look past Laura’s head into the apartment. “You got company?”

“Uh,” Laura chewed the inside of her cheek, “yeah.” She opened the door wider. “Come in.”

Sitting on Laura’s couch, with a familiarity that Carmilla felt perturbed by, was a beautiful, long-legged redhead with a sweet smile. She got up and stood next to Laura. Carmilla was amused, and also astounded, when she saw that she was at least a foot taller. “Hey there,” she said.

Laura was short, but she shrank further as she looked between Carmilla and the woman beside her. “Danny, I’d like you to meet Carmilla Karnstein,” she said. “My girlfriend.”

“Right, yeah, the curator at the Moderna Museet?” Danny’s German was accented, but fluent. “Laura’s told me a bit about you.” She grinned and offered her hand. “I’m Danny. Danny Lawrence.”

The name was familiar. Carmilla shook her hand. “Didn’t you write something for _Harper’s Magazine_ a while back? Something about this avant-garde theatre piece you saw in Copenhagen,” she said.

Danny looked down bashfully. “Yes, I did write that,” she said. “I can’t believe you remember reading it. That was a year ago, I think.”

“It was a great read,” Carmilla said. She turned to Laura. “Man, when you say you know people, you really do _know_ people, don’t you?” She barely registered Laura’s increasing discomfort when she asked Danny, “So, what brings you to Stockholm?”

“To visit Laura, of course!” Danny replied. She couldn’t refuse Carmilla’s insistence that she join them for dinner, and the three of them ended up talking for hours.

Laura didn’t talk as much as Carmilla expected her to. She bounced off what Danny said, reacted to the stories she told. When Danny mentioned studying at the University of Toronto, it became apparent to Carmilla that Laura and Danny may have more of a history than was previously implied by either of them.

When Danny left—with an unexplained “See you tomorrow,” directed at Laura—Carmilla loaded the dishwasher with plates that Laura rinsed. “So, did Danny know that you were off the grid or did you make a special exception?” Carmilla asked. She immediately wanted to rephrase the question, aware that it came off as passive-aggressive, but Laura looked about ready to burst.

“I was off the grid because of Danny,” Laura said. “She told me she was going to be in Sweden for a couple of weeks and I wanted to make time to see her, you know, to catch up. I worked flat out from Wednesday so I could devote the weekend to spending time with her.”

“All right,” Carmilla said, “so why didn’t you tell me this?”

Laura’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I guess I wasn’t ready to talk about that yet,” she admitted.

“What? That you and Danny were together?”

Just like that, Laura’s eyes flitted back up. “What? How did you know that?” she asked.

“I’m not an idiot, Laura. I listened to what Danny was saying and I came to my own conclusions,” Carmilla said. “And you know, she’s a fascinating, attractive woman, and it just proved to me that you have good taste. If you had told me that your ex-girlfriend was coming to Stockholm to visit you, would I have liked to meet her? Yes. Would I have let you be afterwards? Yes. You didn’t have to worry about me shoehorning myself into your time with her. I’m a big girl.”

“I know that. It’s just that– me and Danny, we’re…” Laura sighed. “It’s a mess, all right? Just when I think I’ve figured it out, it starts looking like a puzzle again.”

Carmilla scowled. “You’re saying that you still have feelings for her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Come on.”

“ _Please_.” Laura shook her head. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, no words are coming out of it, so how else would I know what you’re supposed to mean?”

“Look, Carm, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about Danny,” Laura said. “I don’t know why, but I was scared of what you’ll think.”

“I thought we told each other things,” Carmilla said. “I thought we trust each other.”

“We do.”

“You know, it’s not Danny being here that I have a problem with.” Carmilla put the last of the dishes away and walked around the apartment to gather her things. “I’m feeling hurt that you didn’t feel comfortable enough to be honest with me, and I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think that you couldn’t be.” She put her coat on and glanced at the time on her phone. “I better go. They forecasted heavy rain not long from now.”

“Carmilla.” Laura followed after her. “Please stay.”

Carmilla shook her head. The pleading in Laura’s voice made her aware of the prickling sensation behind her eyes. “I think we need some time apart.” Her voice was quieter now, but no less blunt. “Good night, Laura.” She opened the door, walked out into the hallway, and dwelled on the possibly permanent damage that conversation had done.

* * *

It was days before Carmilla heard from Laura again. On Friday, she had gone home immediately after work, and made herself a light dinner then put music on as she browsed the internet. Her phone alerted her to a message from Laura.

_Hi there. Are you home?_

Carmilla stared at her phone skeptically. For a fleeting moment, she considered not replying. But reading Laura’s words tugged at her heart. _Hi. Yes, I’m home._

And then there was knocking at her door. Camilla put her laptop down and answered it.

Laura stood there, her hair in a messy bun, her green jacket streaked with rainfall. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Carmilla said.

“I’m sorry that I’m not really good at sharing what’s going on. I’m not really good at talking to people,” Laura said. “I’m trying to get better at it. You know, because I’ve got you, and you’re pretty special to me, and I want to be able to tell you things without wanting to run away.”

“It’s okay,” Carmilla muttered.

“I mean, not that I want to run away because of you,” Laura fumbled, “It’s just my instinct, and I need to quash it. It’s stupid, really, because you’ve been nothing but a great listener.”

Carmilla shrugged.

“Even if you can be a grumpy asshole.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Carmilla protested. But then she shrugged again, “Fine, I’ll give you that.” Because it’s not _untrue_.

“Look, Danny and I,” Laura’s talking picked up the pace, “Danny was a year above me at the University of Toronto. We first met at the feminist collective, and then we ran into each other at a couple of writers’ cafés and we became friends. And then she moved to New York after graduation, then I moved to London after, so we kind of fell out of touch just because we were both so busy trying to build our careers. But then after I finished grad school and got my first articles published, we found each other again at a party thrown by a publishing house. We spent more time together, and eventually we started dating.”

“Laura –”

“Let me finish,” Laura said. “It was awesome, what I had with Danny. We had a lot in common, we weren’t jealous people, everyone thought we were gonna get married and have babies. And yeah, she is incredibly stable and reliable and all the things I should ever want in someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. But somehow that wasn’t enough because I felt trapped, being with her. It wasn’t until we ended things that I felt independent, and I felt like I’ve fully grown into myself.” She paused. “We’re good friends now, despite everything, and every time I’m with her I couldn’t help but be reminded by the future I could’ve had. I had some great years with Danny, and sometimes I can’t help but think that could’ve been my forever, you know?”

“What are you trying to get at, Laura?”

“I won’t deny that I went through the exact same thought process when Danny came to visit me last weekend,” Laura said. “But it ended differently.”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“It made me realise –” Laura inhaled. “It made me realise how serious I am about you. It made me realise that even in the short amount of time that we’ve been together, you’ve carved out this space in my life. And that I _love_ that it’s there. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be without you anymore, but I don’t feel trapped. In fact, I’ve never felt freer.”

Laura was smiling _that_ smile now. “I want you to stay, Carm,” she said. “I want you to stay for good.”

Well, Carmilla was _not_ expecting that. “Okay,” was all she could say before her hands shot out and her fingers curled around Laura’s lapels. She yanked her inside and managed to shut the door before shoving Laura against the hallway wall for a hard, bruising kiss. She wanted to tell Laura that she felt the same way, but words don’t come out of her mouth that easily, so this manner would have to be enough.

Laura, without breaking the kiss, was pushing Carmilla backwards into the apartment. Carmilla had removed her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt. She hummed approvingly when Carmilla palmed a breast through her tank top. She placed her hands on the back of Carmilla’s thighs and guided her onto a clear space on the kitchen counter. And then her hands were travelling up Carmilla’s bare legs, pushing up her skirt, thumbs skimming her inner thighs as she pulled Carmilla’s underwear off. She stopped kissing Carmilla long enough to stroke her cheek with her right hand.

Looking into Laura’s eyes, Carmilla knew all of the things that she wanted to say, all of the things that she wanted _this_ to mean, when she thrust two fingers inside Carmilla.

After Carmilla reached climax, she let her body relax against Laura’s. Her face nuzzled into the crook of Laura’s neck. She began to press light kisses to Laura’s pulse point, and smiled when Laura giggled at the contact. Carmilla leaned back so she can look at Laura's face.

Apologies fell from her lips.

Laura moved in to catch them again and again.

* * *

The next morning, Carmilla woke up with a warm body curled up behind her, and an arm wrapped around her torso. She shifted carefully so she would be lying on her back. She turned her head slightly to come face to face with Laura.

Her golden brown hair was messy, spread out on the pillow. Her breath tickled Carmilla’s nose, but Carmilla couldn’t stop looking at her. Even in the dim light of her bedroom, she marvelled at Laura’s beauty: her soft cheeks, her button nose, and those lips that were curved contentedly, even in sleep.

Laura opened her eyes, and they lit up upon seeing Carmilla. “Morning.” Her voice was raspy with sleep.

“Morning,” Carmilla said, before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Want some coffee? Breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Laura held her closer. “But nah... five more minutes. Or fifty.”

Carmilla’s heart swelled as Laura burrowed into her neck. They were two women still learning to shake the habits of their pasts. There was still a long way to go. But Carmilla would map out Laura’s scars and would let Laura map hers, just to see what they could learn. And then they would go from there.

This could be the beginning of their forever.

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of you have commented on ["The kind of people you meet on airplanes"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2817635) asking to see more of this universe (which I refer to as Stockholm AU), so here it is! I intended to paint a more realistic depiction of a relationship, complete with the fights and the friends and the sex, and I hope I've succeeded. I think this will be the last you'll see of this universe from me, just because I enjoy writing Laura and Carmilla and their shenanigans as a university-age couple in a supernatural university the most.
> 
> Title is from ["This Will Be Our Year" by The Zombies](http://alterocentrist.tumblr.com/post/106780927205), which is the B-side on the record Laura gets Carmilla on Valentine's Day.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!


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